


Merlin has a soft spot for animals

by riverray



Category: Merlin (TV), Merlin BBC
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverray/pseuds/riverray
Summary: And they have a soft spot for him.
Relationships: Elyan/Merlin (Merlin), Gwaine/Merlin (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table/Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Lancelot/Merlin (Merlin), Leon/Merlin (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Percival (Merlin)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 1319





	Merlin has a soft spot for animals

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a cute collage of Colin Morgan, on set of Merlin, cuddling and loving up on some horses.
> 
> If anything is wrong or inaccurate I'm not surprised. I haven't watched the series in awhile but got all emotional over the collage so my apologies for the stuff that doesn't add up.
> 
> Incase ya don't know & are confused
> 
> -a colt is a young male horse (usually between 0-4) (unless you're my dad, who calls his horses colts for the rest of their lives because he's sentimental like that)
> 
> -when a horse has a 'foot cocked' they are resting one of their hind hooves. Like humans shifting their weight from leg to another
> 
> -"Broken" "breaking in" are terms used in the horse world referring to the training of a horse to take a rider. It sounds harsh, I don't know who first thought to call it that but here we are
> 
> -fun fact: Auden the horse is described to look like an andalusian. Gorgeous horses. Was told they were quite popular in the Middle Ages but I don't know for sure. My horses are all a mystery in terms of breed. Pretty sure one of mine is actually a moose. 
> 
> Anyways

Merlin annoyed Arthur in many forms. From the insolent way he treated Arthur as if he wasn’t of royal blood to the way he’d skip out on manservant duties to apparently ‘dill dally in the tavern’ Arthur found himself irked by Merlin multiple times in one day alone. Sometimes, if Arthur was in a particularly bad mood, Merlin could cause the King to snap at him for simply sneezing too loud. 

But, in Arthur’s defense, it was during a hunt.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Merlin.”

“It’s not my fault you’ve got us sitting under a bloody blooming tree for hours!”

Sometimes, Arthur would feel bad. Most times he felt his annoyance was justified. Especially when Merlin would throw him that damned mischievous grin, indicating he knew he was getting on Arthur’s last nerve and it was giving him great pleasure. 

Out of all the annoying things Merlin does and says, Arthur probably gets the most embarrassed at the way Merlin can make his fierce royal hunting hounds turn to docile, snuggly critters in a matter of seconds. It started on the first day Arthur ever brought the clumsy servant on a hunt. Merlin had never seen the royal hounds before and had gasped so suddenly and stopped up so quickly that Arthur stumbled into his back and had a hand on his sword, first instinct thinking there was danger. 

When he saw none he prodded Merlin in the back and clucked as if he were talking to a horse, “get on you idiot, we haven’t got all day.”

“Dogs,” Merlin states before turning to Arthur with such a ridiculous smile it made Arthur quirk an eyebrow. “You’re bringing dogs?”

“Yes, they’re properly trained rabbit hounds how else do you expect us to find our prey?”

Merlin lets out a breathy laugh, “I’ve never seen one before.”

Arthur finds that odd and shows it quite clear on his face. Merlin fills him in, “in Ealdor food was scarce, you didn’t keep any animal unless you intended on eating it.”

“There were horses when I went.”

“A delicacy to some.”  
Arthur steps back, incredulous. Merlin shakes his head, “not to me! I don’t fancy meat too much. Can I go see them?”

“That’s why you’re so skinny. You eat like the rabbit we’ll be chasing. And no. What do they look like to you? Kittens? They’re well trained hunting dogs. Nothing must distract them. Now mount up.” And with that Arthur mounts his own horse to the side of him. But Merlin doesn’t take his eyes off the dogs, giving them a sad look that has Arthur rolling his eyes. “If you put all that stuff away,” Arthur continues gesturing to all the equipment Merlin was carrying, “I’ll let you pet them tonight once we’ve set up camp.”

Arthur was most certainly NOT expecting for Merlin to light up the way he did, throwing a bright smile up at the Prince and hurrying off to throw everything in his arms across the back of the pack horse before mounting up on his own. Arthur shook his head and called out for his knights and servant to move on. 

That night, after Merlin set up the camp as fast as he could for the noblemen (accidentally spilling a bit of soup on Leon in his haste) Arthur kept true to his word and gave Merlin the go ahead to see the dogs. 

And what a mistake that had been. Leon had worriedly leaned into Arthur around the fire saying, “Sire, your dogs are not exactly friendly, what if they bite him?”

Arthur just shrugs, “then he learns a valuable lesson.” 

But Merlin most certainly does not get bitten. Arthur would steal glances over to where the dogs were tied to see what were usually statue like hounds leaping and rolling around as Merlin sat amongst them petting and talking to them like they were pets. Arthur had a right mind to correct his servant, tell him to not get so mushy and ridiculous over such animals. But the faintest hint of a smile threatened to upturn the corner of his lips when one hound, the young red one Arthur hadn’t actually known the name of, was so excited to have someone giving him attention he threw himself into Merlin’s lap, soaking up all the scratches and pets he could get. 

For this one night, Arthur thought he’d let it slide and threw his attention back into the conversation among the other knights. It wasn’t until much later, when men started heading off to bed, that Arthur remembered he hadn’t heard from Merlin in awhile. When the Prince stood and looked back at where Merlin had been with the dogs he let out a long, deep sigh.

Merlin was asleep, propped up against the tree the dogs were tied to with all four hounds cuddled around him, the red one claiming the servant’s lap. 

“Ridiculous,” Arthur says to himself but does nothing to wake Merlin or the dogs. 

And from then on, what were once composed, well-behaved, poised royal hunting hounds, would always turn to joyful, out of control, overly excited pups whenever they’d see Merlin. And it really started to embarrass Arthur when his dogs would get so wound up, nearly pulling out of the grip of the knight responsible for handling them. At first, Merlin saw nothing wrong with it, claiming the dogs craved affection and that it was wrong for Arthur to deprive them of it. But eventually, Merlin took notice of how flushed Arthur would get when his dogs would act out, especially in front of other royals, so Merlin took it upon himself to quiet the dogs quickly and effectively before they got too out of control. 

Merlin even tried to distance himself at the campsites. And for the most part, he did a pretty good job. But occasionally, when Arthur would wake in the middle of the night, he’d catch Merlin resting with the dogs, lazily scratching their ears or whispering stories to them as they snoozed around him. The young red one always curled at least half in his lap. 

Merlin named him Red. 

Arthur never changed it. 

Morgana used to have a cat, way back when. A plucky little grey tabby with white mittens on each foot. The cat was a bit of a chunk, courtesy of meowing for food as if she were hungry all the time and being annoying enough that Gwen would feed her just to shut her up. 

The cat’s name was Bell. Named after the church bell that would always sound at noon that Morgana used to love so much. Bell loved Morgana and… well… that was about it. If you weren’t Morgana then you might as well not even dare to enter the Lady’s chambers without caution. 

Because, to put it simply, Bell was a right old hag as Gwen had told Merlin. 

“I’ve had enough, Merlin!” Gwen exclaims as the two of them walk the halls together, “I don’t even know why Morgana keeps the cat around anyways, it’s not like she has time for it. I swear, all it does is sit in her chambers, plotting my demise as it waits for me to come change Morgana’s sheets. I can’t even feed the thing without risking an eye. She’s a- a- a monster!” And to emphasize her point, Gwen pulls her skirt out, showing Merlin the rips and tears apparently done in by a kitty cat. 

Merlin tries to fight back a grin, hands behind his back as he listens to Gwen complain about a cat. Gwen notices though and she stares at him with a pointed look before saying, “it’s really not that funny Merlin. Here-“ she stops and hands the clean linen to Merlin who accepts it with confusion, “why don’t you go change Morgana’s sheets. I’ll go tidy up Arthur’s room. And then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

Gwen waits for no response as she saunters off, rather angrily, towards Arthur’s chambers. Merlin shifts uncomfortably on his feet as he looks down at the bedding in his hands. Every time he goes into Morgana’s chambers it always ends up awkward. With an exhale, Merlin heads to Morgana’s room, figuring while everyone is busy meeting with the King no one will disturb Merlin as he simply changes the sheet. He’ll be in and out in no time. 

Except he’s not. When Gwen was done tidying up Arthur’s room (which she’ll admit, gave her some new found respect for Merlin considering how annoyingly messing it was with dirty clothes in random places and plates of food left out) she headed down the corridor towards the Lady Morgana’s room, wanting to just sneak a peak of her chambers to make sure Merlin did, in fact, change her sheets. 

Gwen sees the door to Morgana’s room is slightly ajar and she slowly steps towards it, not wanting to make enough sound that would alert Bell of her presence. She just wants to open it enough to see the bed and then she’ll be gone before the damned cat even knows she’s there. 

But when Gwen pushes the door open slowly she doesn’t just see a perfectly made bed but Merlin laid across it by the foot of the bed. And what surprises Gwen the most? The demon cat is perched upon his chest, eyes closed in a peaceful stupor. Gwen can see the cat’s claws coming out and going back in, kneading Merlin’s shirt gently and even from the doorway Gwen can hear the cat purring like a mad man. The sun is shining on the two of them, making the whole scene so warm and inviting. Merlin is petting the cat lazily, the other arm tucked behind his head as he hums faintly. 

Gwen can’t help an awe-like smile. The cat has never been like this, even with Morgana. She pushes the door open more, wanting to tease Merlin on his obvious affection for the cat but when she does Bell hears the creak of the door and her eyes spring open, green, piercing orbs zoning in on Gwen like a target. And Gwen halts, assuming the cat would jump up and run or, worse, run at her. 

But other than hold her with her gaze, Bell does nothing. Merlin tilts his head up to the side, smiling wide the moment he sees Gwen. “Some beast,” he says, mocking her words from earlier. 

Gwen shakes her head fondly, holding the door, “is this part of your charm, Merlin? Even the cats can’t fight it?”

“But of course,” Merlin jokes softly, still petting the kitty who went back to closing her eyes contently, losing interest in her enemy at the door. Gwen can’t help but feel a little jealous. Morgana loves that cat and isn’t particularly fond of Bell and Gwen’s hatred for each other. It may be a small matter but Gwen has been wanting to conquer the problem that is Bell since Morgana first got her. 

But she supposes that if Morgana’s cat is to fall in love with anyone else, it’d be Merlin. He can be quite charming after all. 

Gwaine loves Merlin. He finds the bumbling, little servant who has the heart of a lion to be quite endearing. He loves ruffling his hair and putting him in a headlock cause Merlin is so easy to overpower. He tries to fight back, Gwaine will give him that, and over the course of the time Gwaine’s known him, Merlin has gotten stronger. But he’s still no physical match for the Knights of Camelot and Gwaine takes full advantage of that. 

Naturally, Gwaine gets quite the high off teasing people of all kinds, even Arthur. But Merlin is probably the most satisfying. There’s something about the way his nose scrunches up in annoyance and his cheeks turn a frustrated red that tells Gwaine he’s done his job. But for all the teasing Gwaine does Merlin sure knows how to give it right back. So in the end it’s a well balanced relationship built off a brotherly kind of love. 

And that brotherly love is what almost causes Gwaine to absolutely lose his mind when Merlin, seemingly without thinking, throws himself back into a burning, collapsing barn.  
When reports had gotten back to Camelot that outlying villages were experiencing raids, King Arthur felt the best bet was to mount up and handle these raiders head on. So all the knights, Arthur, and of course, Merlin, packed up and headed out to visit these villages and attempt to fight the bandits off for good. The whole thing had actually been going quite smoothly, little to no fighting occurred due to many of the raiders being smart enough to see they were clearly outnumbered and outclassed and reluctantly promising the safety of the villages before scurrying off. 

But, as usual, their good luck never lasted and when smoke billowed from the forest below the hill Arthur made the call to hurry to the village they assumed was mostly likely under attack. 

It was the biggest fight back they had experienced yet on the trip but the bandits were still no match. While the knights and Arthur fought hand to hand with the remaining raiders, Merlin busied himself by rescuing women and children from burning homes (he also kept a watchful eye on Arthur but no one needed to take notice of that). 

Merlin made it his mission to make sure no soul was left stranded in their homes set aflame. These raiders had lit much of the village on fire before the knights and Arthur had even arrived. Women crying for their children still inside and men desperately trying to break in. Merlin secretly used his magic to get the majority out, stopping a collapsing building from falling on top of, and ultimately killing, Lancelot who had two children in his arms. Knowing Merlin’s secret, Lancelot gave a curt nod of acknowledgement to the warlock when he noticed the falling building stop in its place. 

By the end of it, they actually were lucky. No one seemingly perished in the fires, though many men did in attempt to protect their homes from the raiders. Merlin was jogging up to the knights and Arthur after returning a child to her mother, Gwaine turning and greeting the servant with a warm smile at their success when Merlin stopped dead in his tracks. He whipped around, eyes set on a burning barn and yelled, “The barn!” before charging for it head on. 

Gwaine shouted for him, catching the attention of the other knights and Arthur as Merlin disappeared into the creaking, fully engulfed barn. Arthur shouts after him as well, swearing along with it and Gwaine quickly turns to Percival, thrusting his sword into his fellow knight’s arms, “I’ll get him!”

Gwaine runs towards the barn, hearing footsteps following him, imagining whoever’s coming with won't allow two men to risk their lives without back up. But before Gwaine can get even close to the barn to enter, it collapses, the dust and debris billowing upwards and out, causing Gwaine and everyone else to stop dead in their tracks and cover their face. When the commotion dies down, Gwaine uncovers his face and stares at the destruction, desperately hoping to see Merlin had already gotten out.

When the smoke and dust clears enough, there’s a figure walking towards them. “It’s Merlin!” Percival cries out, relief clear in his voice. Gwaine gives a watery laugh, thrilled to see his friend alive and unharmed and-

Gwaine’s relieved smile drops quickly when he sees what Merlin has cuddled to his chest.

“Is that… a chicken?” Leon asks quietly, confused. Arthur steps forward, followed by the rest of the knights. His face is twisted in disbelief and anger. “Merlin!” He seethes, “please don’t tell me you ran back into a burning, collapsing, building for a damn chicken!”

Merlin looks at them solemnly but not ashamed as he raises the chicken up a bit. A little yellow hen who clucks quietly. Merlin stares at her, as if trying to figure out himself if he actually just risked his life for a bird.

“Yes.” He says, emotionless. He can’t deny how stupid this looks. It’s stupid, he knows it is. “She was the last one. Wouldn’t seem fair, would it?”

Arthur throws his arms up, “you could’ve died! And for what? Supper?!”

Merlin brings the chicken back under his arm and shields her away from Arthur with his other, “well she’s not supper now, is she? That’d just be rude Arthur, even for you.” 

The King slaps his hands together, obviously at a loss of what to say, “Merlin you have… seriously surprised me in the past with your endless amount of stupidity but this? This is in your top three most reckless, idiotic moments I have ever known.”

Merlin has the audacity to look to the ground, his face unnerving and littered in ash, as is the rest of him. There goes a beat of silence between the Knights, the King and the idiot Servant before even the chicken senses the tension and clucks loudly in dismay. 

“So I’m guessing naming the chicken after her mighty King is a no go?” 

Merlin actually gets a slap in the back of the head for that. Arthur stomps away, his worry for his stupid friend boiling into frustration. Merlin smirks to himself, physically returning to a state of ease and Gwaine steps forward, a hand on his shoulder, “Merlin, I’m the last person who should be calling anyone reckless… but that, my friend, was reckless. What were you thinking?”

“I couldn’t just leave her, Gwaine.”

“It’s a chicken!”

“Who was scared, no doubt.” Merlin argues back, his voice ready to defend himself. He and Gwaine stare at each other before Merlin continues softly, “a life is a life.”

Gwaine grabs Merlin by the shoulder and pulls him into a tight embrace, never minding the poor chicken caught somewhere in the middle who clucks almost questionably. Merlin can’t really hug back because of the chicken but he lets Gwaine squeeze him for a moment before the older knight lets him go and gives Merlin his one whack on the back of the head. Merlin quickly looks up, offended, “Alright! I already got my smack!”

“You forgot one,” says a gruff voice from above and Percival lands one to his head as well, followed by Elyan and Leon and Merlin scoffs at all of them. Lancelot approaches, smile crooked on his face and Merlin thinks he’s gonna let him off easy. 

“Don’t do that again!” Lancelot suddenly exclaims, giving Merlin his last and final whack. “Oy!” Merlin spats back, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand. He grumbles something about ‘thick knights and their need for hitting’ as they all head back to their horses and finish up helping the townspeople.

Everyone kinda figured Merlin, after quite literally risking his life for the damn chicken, wouldn't let anyone attempt to eat her that night at camp. But that didn’t stop Percival and Elyan for trying, in good humor. Elyan grabbed the chicken that had stood by Merlin motionless as he attempted to start the fire, jogging away with her and instructing Percival to grab the pot as Merlin jumped up and chased after him with a wooden spoon. 

“Put her down, Elyan! She’s already traumatized as is!”

“What are you gonna do? Kill me with a spoon?”

“Yes!” 

“You can't, Merlin! I'm a knight, it's unlawful!”

“It’s defense!”

Gwaine chuckles when Arthur sighs and rubs his temples. 

It’s quite comical, the next morning, when on their ride back to Camelot, Merlin places the chicken on the rump of his horse. The horse sort of tucks his rear end in, obviously uncomfortable with talons clinging to the top of his butt. But Merlin soothes him and the horse accepts the unlikely passenger within a few moments. The chicken nestles down behind Merlin, staying in place until they arrive to a nearby village for water and Merlin reluctantly gives the chicken to a little girl who falls in love with it. 

If Merlin had the mother promise to keep it as a pet and not for dinner, no one knew of it. Or, at least, decided not to tease him on it. Just this once. 

Lancelot was maybe the first to take notice of the way creatures of the forest seemed to be at ease with Merlin, almost unknowingly to the warlock himself. Stags were never frightened by him on hunting trip, rabbits wouldn’t flee when he was gathering firewood, and the horses found great fun in nuzzling his neck. Merlin seemed almost oblivious to it. Never seeming to really notice the massive stag a mere 10 feet behind him, its beady eyes looking at him curiously, almost expectantly. Lancelot had once questioned about the rabbit who was allowing Merlin to gather firewood all around it, never stirring even once. Merlin looked at the little rabbit, frowning with a shrug, “I dunno.”

“Is it…” Lancelot pauses to look around, making sure the rest of the gang is far back enough at the campsite so they can’t hear his next words, “is it your magic?” he whispers.

Merlin tilts his head, mulling it over, “I dunno. If so, I’m not sure what it is about my magic that makes them like this. I didn’t cast a spell or anything.” 

Lancelot nods, pondering it for only a minute more before dropping the topic all together and helping Merlin gather the wood. 

A few hours later, back at camp, Merlin is sitting by the fire with everyone but Leon and Arthur who stand a few feet away at a quickly set up table, figuring their next move. Merlin is explaining some of the stuff Gaius taught him, sparked by Elyan’s curiosity on being a physician. Merlin admits he doesn’t know nearly as much as Gaius and probably never will but he’s happy to tell them what he knows. And for the most part, the four knights are intrigued. 

As Merlin delves into the chemistry part of it all he’s cut off suddenly, and perhaps a little rudely, by a medium sized, royal blue butterfly who finds nothing wrong with landing directly on Merlin’s nose.

Merlin stops talking immediately, going cross eyed to stare at the offending butterfly who lazily opens and closes its wings, giving the illusion that Merlin is wearing some type of silly mask when its wings cover the majority of his face. 

A beat of silence goes between him and the knights before someone breaks out in laughter. It’s Percival who in return gets Gwaine laughing. 

“You’ve made a friend, Merlin!” Gwaine says cheerfully, nudging Elyan to look as if he hasn’t already been watching. Elyan nods, chuckling a bit, “out of all the places to land.”

“Sir, do you mind?” Merlin asks the bug softly, sticking his finger between his nose and its little legs to coax the butterfly onto that instead. The butterfly seems to happily oblige, crawling up his finger to rest in his palm. Merlin smiles at it. 

“Even the bugs,” Lancelot says softly, gaining only Merlin’s attention as the other knights joke about the butterfly being smitten with Merlin. Merlin smiles at Lancelot and gives a half hearted shrug before attempting to gently shake the butterfly off his palm. But it won’t budge. 

“Shoo,” Merlin tells it, giving it a rougher shake. The butterfly flutters into the air before landing back on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin lets out a defeated sigh, “You’re a stowaway,” he tells it. 

The butterfly merely flaps its wings in response. Merlin shrugs again, taking the banter from the other three before just jumping back into his previous conversation. No one further mentions his friend upon his shoulder. Except for Leon when he and Arthur return to sit around the fire. 

“What is that?”

“Merlin’s new girlfriend,” Elyan jokes, earning a playful slap from Gwaine in approval and a short, “ha!”. Merlin doesn’t acknowledge them, “a butterfly.”

“Yes, clearly, Merlin,” Arthur says this time, rolling his eyes but he’s not grouchy or snippy tonight, “what’s it doing on your shoulder?”

“It won’t leave,” Merlin explains as if it all makes sense. Arthur and Leon share confused glances before deciding its not worth further investigation and Lancelot catches Merlin’s eyes, sending the warlock a quick wink.

It wasn’t uncommon for neighboring kingdoms to engage in a ‘horse swap.’ It was actually a rather large event, quite like an auction, where the Kingdoms would get together in the main square and bring royal horses to swap with other royals for, hopefully, something more suitable for them. And to help spice up the bloodlines of what was already in the stables. 

As King, Arthur had happily hosted the horse swap on his grounds this year. Other kings, noblemen and royals alike came out with mighty steeds to see what they could trade in for. Like years past, it all went rather smoothly. Only a few falls and a couple escaped horses. Nothing too out of the norm. 

Except Arthur was gifted a colt by a neighboring king and at first glance, Arthur could clearly see why the King wanted nothing in trade for the colt. For the horse was rowdy, skittish by all the noise and commotion and took 2 knights to keep him from rearing and breaking away. 

But, despite his obvious wild side, the colt was beautiful. Black as night from nose to tail, his mane crimped and long, along with his tail and forelock that nearly touches his nostrils. Truly a horse fit for the finest king. 

And Arthur couldn’t turn the colt down, for the offering king made the comment, “my son could not sit astride him. I told him, fine! King Arthur surely can!”

So now his reputation was at risk if he denied the gift. “Put him in the back stables,” he told some of his knights as they wrestled the horse away. Merlin stood slightly behind Arthur, his hands behind his back as he chewed his lip nervously, “you gonna ride him in the tournament?”

He was referring to the jousting tournament two weeks away. Arthur had made a comment he needed a new mount, something faster and more energized. Though the colt may be a little more than he bargained for. But he wouldn’t admit to that. 

“Perhaps. Why? Something troubling you?”

“I don’t know, Sire. He doesn’t seem… joust-y.”

“Joust-y?” Arthur repeats, turning to Merlin slightly with his arms crossed, “you keep making up words, Merlin, it’s disgraceful.” Merlin shrugs, looking away, “it’s just, you wouldn’t want to risk the tournament because of a skittish colt. Has he even taken a rider?”

“He will,” Arthur says, matter of factly as he turns towards his castle’s doors, stopping to place a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “don’t be such a child, Merlin, I’ve handled plenty of horses before.”

Merlin says nothing. A few days later, Arthur thinks it’s time to give the new horse a try.

Let it be known, Arthur has never been thrown from a horse. Granted, all the horses he’s ever sat on have been fairly well broke. The knights usually deal with the breaking in, the kings and queens get the well finished product. But Arthur knew the horse had already taken a saddle and a bridle and while King Fergus’s son couldn’t stay on the horse apparently others had. So Arthur thought it wouldn’t look good if he didn’t just jump on, unafraid. 

But the black colt bolted, giving a lazy buck before throwing his head down and giving a second good one. Arthur hit the dirt pretty quick. And it’s not like it was something he wasn't used to, he’d been jousting for years, he’d most certainly taken some falls. But there’s a difference from falling because someone took a javelin to your chest and falling because your mount thought you should. 

And that difference is shame. 

Arthur’s quickly being pulled up by the arm, someone helping him to his feet and when Arthur looks up, it’s Merlin who’s looking back at him with an expression of concern. “Perhaps let a knight tire him out first?” Merlin suggests quietly, “he’s still new, Arthur, he’s probably nervous and you can’t be hurt before the tournament.” 

Arthur, trying not to let the pain in his side show, straightens up stiffly, “please, Merlin, I’ve already hit the ground in front of everyone. If I don’t get back on I’ll surely seem weak.”

“Or wise.”

Arthur gives him that look, the one where Merlin knows he probably ought to just shut up, “alright, Your Majesty,” Merlin says in a slight mocking tone, “your head.” 

“And your armor to clean, so prepare the bucket, it’ll need a good polishing.” 

Arthur regathers himself and his horse who’s acting like he hasn’t run in days. He throws his head when Arthur attempts to recollect his reins but after a stern, “behave, you beast!” the horse allows the King to gather them up. Arthur gets dumped three more times but the bruising is mostly done to his ego and once Arthur finds his seat and balance he can withstand a few more bucks before the horse gives in and allows Arthur to canter him around in the arena. The knights along the rail cheer. Merlin even jumps in, clapping and smiling proudly. Arthur smiles and nods to him, almost as if to say ‘told you so.’

That night Merlin gets the last laugh however when Arthur walks to his chambers like his legs can’t bend and his back is out of place. Merlin wants so badly to tease and gloat but instead he fills the King’s bath basin with hot water and adds some remedies Gaius has for sore muscles. 

When Arthur sinks into it while in the quietness of his room he thinks Merlin is his favorite person right now.

When the jousting tournament arrives, Arthur can’t say he’s completely confident in his black colt. While they’ve definitely gotten better at riding together the colt still shies from the most random things and when he’s feeling particularly naughty he’ll throw a buck earning a ‘why can’t you just do as your told?” from a disgruntled Arthur. 

But Arthur feels he’s a better bet than his old bay who, while is still a prized mount, is getting on in age and losing stamina. Something, Arthur fears, his young colt may never do. And it genuinely worries Arthur today. Not because he’s afraid necessarily of falling and getting hurt but falling in front of all his people. Everyone is out there wanting to see their King perform his very best and he’s concerned riding the black colt that he’ll only look like a fool. He’s pacing, waiting for his turn. It doesn’t help he hasn’t seen Merlin much at all today, both of them confined to their duties of status. He figures Merlin is most likely tending to the horses or setting out different javelins and armor. Merlin runs around like a chicken with its head cut off during these events. 

When its Arthur’s turn to go to the arena he grabs his helmet and makes his way to where his horse is stabled privately behind his tent. He opens the tent flap, expecting to see Merlin but frowns when he doesn’t. It’s eerily quiet in the tent, except for the flap to the back entrance that flutters slightly in the wind. Arthur marches toward it, wanting to grab his colt and head for where everyone will be waiting for him, with or without Merlin he supposes. 

But as he gets closer, he hears something. A murmur of a low voice, talking soothingly and quietly, Arthur almost wonders if his horse is even out there at all given how quiet it is and how his horse had been rearing up at the post it was tied to, chipping away at the wood with his hooves. 

Arthur sneaks closer, peaking around the flap open. He sees his black colt, still as a statue but much more relaxed. His shoulders are slumped, his back foot cocked, and his tail swishing lazily. His neck is level with his back, his head the lowest Arthur had ever seen it and at his head is Merlin, holding the horse to his chest while his hand moves up and down the horse’s long face, the other is splayed across the horse’s cheek, Merlin’s fingers scratching him slowly. The horse practically looks asleep in Merlin’s embrace and the servant rests his head between the horse’s ears, still speaking to him softly. 

“You’ve got to be a good lad. You’ve got a king on your back, do you know? You’re the most important horse out there, so you’ve gotta act like it.”

The horse snorts in response, shaking his head slightly but never moving from Merlin’s arms. 

“Oh no. None of that. You’re grown now, not a colt anymore. A real horse. And you’ve got a job to do. You’ve gotta take good care of your King. Trust him, do as he says, he’ll return the favor.”

The horse blows air on Merlin’s stomach, Merlin smiles, “he can be a bit of a prat, I’ll admit, but he’s got a good heart.” He reaches up to tidy up the horse’s messy forelock, “You take care of him and he’ll take good care of you.” 

Merlin lets out a laugh when the horse nuzzles his stomach, his lip grabbing the bottom of Merlin’s shirt before lifting it up playfully. “Hey!” Merlin chuckles, pulling his shirt from the horse’s teeth, “play later, work first.” And he ends it by petting the horse between the eyes and giving him a good couple affection slaps to the neck.  
Arthur leans back into the tent, unwelcoming emotions settling in his gut that his manservant sometimes brings out of him. Like when Merlin admits his ‘I’d die for you’ loyalty or confesses his devotion to Arthur and the King almost feels blindsided by the realization of just how much he means to Merlin. 

And… how much Merlin means to him. But he tucks that away, straightening his shoulders, securing his helmet in his arms and parting through the flaps of the tent like he’d just shown up, “I need my horse.”

Merlin jumps, taken aback, and so doesn’t the horse, throwing his head up and looking to Arthur startled. Arthur opens his mouth about to say something, feeling awkward, almost like he intruded on them. But instead he closes it, walks up to his horse and sticks his hand out. The horse immediately puts his lips in Arthur’s palm, tickling it a bit as he searches for whatever Arthur might’ve been offering him. When the horse realizes there’s nothing there, he snorts causing Arthur to smile. “Sorry, colt. Perhaps sugar cubes after the tournament.”

“If you behave,” Merlin interjects, hands on his hips as he gives the horse a pointed look. The horse stretches his neck out to Merlin, almost like he’s trying to win the servant over by being charming. It might be working. 

“Alright,” Arthur says, handing his helmet to Merlin and untying his horse from the post, leading him around, “ready to joust?” 

“Me or the horse?”

Arthur rolls his eyes, “the horse, obviously.”

A beat of silence passes as Merlin follows his King and horse around the tent to the arena. “…I might think you’ve gone mad if you start talking to your horse.”

Arthur whips around, giving Merlin an incredulous look, “says you! You gave him a lecture.”

Merlin feigns innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, my Lord. You might be hearing things too. I’ll check in with Gaius, see if he has anything that cures madness. Until then, here ya go.” Merlin hands Arthur his helmet as they have arrived at the back entrance to the arena. A knight runs up to them with Arthur’s javelin. Merlin pats the horse on the rump, giving Arthur a cheerful smile and a quick salute, “good luck, Sire.” And then he’s jogging away, up to the stands where he takes his seat behind Gwen who turns and gives him a welcoming smile. 

Arthur grumbles, getting ready for the tournament, his horse still surprisingly calm though having sense picked his head up to take in the surroundings. 

Overall, it goes very well. The colt dominates the field of horses who charge at him, it was almost like, despite his untamable nature at the stables, he was born for this. Running recklessly into danger simply because Arthur wanted him too. His stamina was that of like no other and his ability to leap into a full gallop from a stand still had even Arthur reeling a bit. At the end of the day, Arthur was proud of his new horse and was sure to see to it he got a good rub down at the stables.

And plenty of sugar cubes. 

“What will you be calling him?” Merlin asks as they exit the stable, the black colt munching happily on sugar and oats. Arthur ponders this, “what was it you wanted to name that chicken?”

Merlin doesn’t skip a beat, “Arth- Oh! I see what you’re doing.”

“Merlin is a fine horse name.”

Merlin smirks, “right. Because he’s brave and intelligent.”

Arthur makes a face of disapproval, “or reckless and shies from the wind.” 

Merlin rolls his eyes this time. But none the less they walk back to the castle in a friendly silence.

For the record, much like the chicken being called Arthur, the name Merlin wasn’t actually chosen for the horse. Arthur decided on ‘Auden,’ an old name from the kings before him. Merlin actually quite liked it. Found it fitting for the young horse. 

Auden grew fairly fond of his new job, so long as running was involved. He was quite the spectacle to be seen in a charge, mesmerizing even. 

But, personally, Merlin preferred the Auden who’d, in a silly stupor, stretch his neck as far as he could to get to the carrot in Merlin’s pocket and would give a gentle nicker in greeting every morning.


End file.
